Tuesday, February 23, 2016

Tensions I Live With

A friend who reads this blog challenged me the other day:  "What would happen if you wrote something less structured--something that didn't make it seem like you've got it all together?"  I almost spat out the water I was drinking.  Me?  Have it all together?  Hardly!  I often wonder how people would respond if they could hear the prayers I think but do not say; the ones I keep between me and God.  There are probably a few I would keep from God if I could!  How many times have I bitten my tongue to keep from telling a caregiver or paratransit driver just how angry I am with them or exactly what I think of them?  And I do this not because I am particularly virtuous or saintly, but because I need them.  Because they hold my life, or at least a substantial piece of the quality of my life, in their hands.  And if they decide they do not like me, they can walk or drive away.  They can leave me half dressed or make the time they spend helping me get dressed miserable.  They can make it impossible for me to get somewhere I need or want to go, or make the trip to my destination even more of an endurance contest than it usually is.  Then there are the things I say to my body in the countless moments when it doesn't do something I want it to or move as fast as I want it to, words I say despite almost 58 years that tell me my expectations are beyond unrealistic and I should be use to this by now; despite all the spiritual people I've heard or read who insist our bodies are wonderful and we should love them.  None of whom have disabilities, incidentally.  I've tried and failed to do that.  Have it all together?  No.  Absolutely, unequivocally, no.

My friend would probably tell me I can stop there; that it's ok to write something that doesn't necessarily have a point.  But his suggestion makes me uncomfortable for several reasons.  I know there is value in the simple expression of feelings.  I know that dishonest writing, writing that pretends I am something other than human, is bad writing.  I also know that writing is a craft.  A craft by definition is something you attempt to shape consciously.  The only exception I know to this rule is journal writing, and while journal writing may be part of the crafting process, it is not an end in itself--at least not for anything I'm willing to share publicly.

That's the other tension I live with--the tension between the importance of being honest, even and perhaps especially about the stuff that makes it clear I am less than wonderful, and my right to--my need for--privacy.  Every artist, every human being, has that need. The fact that I have a disability makes it even more important that I recognize and honor it.  For most of my life, I have needed help with intimate things--bathing, dressing, even toileting.  The older I get, the more help I need with those things.  Able-bodied people do them privately.  I don't have that luxury.  If I try to do them by myself, they either won't get done or I will put my health at risk. One of the few places I can choose to be private is in my internal world, the world of what I think and how I feel.  As important as it is that I write honestly, as important as honesty is to my spiritual life, it is vitally important that I allow myself to keep some things private.  So while I will choose to share some parts of me I'm less than proud of, there are "not together" parts I will not share.

I'm not sure what the point of this reflection is, particularly for people who don't consider themselves artists or don't have a disability.  Which is why even though I think my friend is mostly wrong, I hope he's at least partially right.  And maybe sometimes the point you're making is hidden.  Or maybe sometimes the best you can do is hope that your readers will discover their own point.

1 comment:

  1. I know the last thing you're wanting is praise for your ability to say things clearly - no cluttering your prose with unnecessary subtext. But it is invariably a pleasure simply to read, to understand and to care about what's on your mind. Thank you Mary!

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